


BLOODLINES

by PRC1857



Category: The Big Valley
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:08:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22599124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PRC1857/pseuds/PRC1857
Summary: A conversation with her mother shows Audra to be more astute about her brothers than anyone had any idea. . .
Kudos: 21





	BLOODLINES

**BLOODLINE**

**UNIVERSE:** Series Canon, for the most part.

**NOTE:** Credit to NLindaBrit for the name of Victoria’s father.

~-oo0oo-~

Victoria leaned against the massive pillar on the front Verandah, studying the focused, concentrated figure of her stepson… no, her **_son_** … as he worked in the corral with the most difficult of the new stock Nick had purchased from the Army.

A slight nudge to her arm startled her into awareness and she glanced at her daughter, Audra, handing her a glass of sherry with a telling smile on her face.

“And what are you smirking at, daughter dear?” she grumbled, taking the glass and turning her pink cheeks for her daughter’s knowing gaze.

“You. Staring at Heath. And seeing Father in every move he makes,” the girl answered softly.

Victoria caught her breath and glanced back at the girl. Everyone tended to discount Audra as an empty-headed female. . . well, everyone but young Heath, out there in the corral, and perhaps her oldest brother, Jarrod . . . more than aware of this young woman’s intellectual capacity. At least far more than Nick, her second oldest brother gave her credit for, or Gene, the youngest tended to even _think_ about.

“What makes you say that?” asked Victoria, lightly, but truly wanting to know.

“The face you make when you look at him working with the horses, or standing up to Nick,” the girl answered, gazing out into the corral. “It’s exactly the same face you used to make when father was calling Nick out . . or when he was arguing with Mr. McColl about the merits of one horse against another,” the girl answered quietly.

Victoria glanced at her, startled, and yet smiling to see the feminine version of the blond, blue-eyed young man so concentrated and focused out in the corral seemingly present, here, on the Verandah beside her.

Victoria put out a gentle hand to her daughter and clasped her hand. “You notice far more than most of your brothers give you credit for,” she said softly.

Audra smiled, her eyes still on the corral. “Not Heath. He knows,” she said quietly. She turned to her mother with a small smile. “Jarrod, too. I never used to be able to understand how Jarrod could figure us out so well. But it’s because he’s the most like you. Nick’s the most like Father. Gene…” She shook her head. “I’m not really sure who Gene’s most like…”

“ _My_ father,” Victoria answered, unexpectedly, making Audra start in surprise.

“Really?”

Victoria smiled, in remembrance. “Yes. You and your brothers never got to meet your grandfather. My father, Victor Fox. . .” she trailed off, nodding. “Eugene is very like him, really, in temperament. Papa never made a judgment until he had all of his information,” she smiled. “He wanted as much knowledge as he could gather . . . like Gene, he saw knowledge as power. The more he knew, the stronger he felt.”

Audra continued to gaze into the corral at her brother, Heath, but nodded, thinking instead of the youngest of the Barkleys. “Yes, that’s Gene,” she corroborated. “He feels safest when he believes what he knows is solid, the best possible information on the subject.” She glanced at her mother. “And Heath?”

Victoria smiled. “Ah . . . where that’s where the lineage has to split a bit . . . you four. . . Jarrod, Nick, Gene and you . . . you all grew up with the knowledge that your place in the world was solid . . . set in stone, so to speak.” She nodded toward the young blond cowboy out the corral who was now quietly talking to the nervous and skittish mare he was working with, slowly . . . slowly making some connection that was nearly magical in its nature. They watched as the young man stood still, somehow telegraphing to the horse, so violent and frightened just a moment before, an understanding that he meant her no harm, he was just _there_. . . no threat. So much the way this enigmatic young man was with the people around him.

“But Heath . . .” The older woman shook her head. “People matter most to Heath. What they think, what they feel. Even what they dream,” she said with a smile. “Perhaps because ‘things’ were never something he had easy access to? Or perhaps it’s something he gets from his mother,” Victoria wondered, glancing at the girl. “He’s different from the rest of the Barkleys in that. But in other ways . . .”

Audra waited, patiently. . . not her strong suit, but in this instance, she really wanted to know.

Finally, Victoria drew in a breath and continued. “Heath is a mixture. He has your father’s intensity, the ability to keep his counsel and still forge connections. For your father,” she said, glancing at her daughter, “family meant EVERYTHING. Your father didn’t make friends, he took hostages,” she chuckled wryly, eyebrow raised.

Startled, Audra saw the veracity of her mother’s statement. When Tom Barkley had felt secure and solid enough to call someone a friend, it was like . . . well, like a blood bond. **_Family_**. And nothing would break it. If you betrayed him, or broke his trust, the blood bond remained, it just turned into a blood feud, she thought, with an inward chuckle.

Victoria continued. “For him, it was more than just the here and now, it meant the bloodline . . . the future . . . everything Barkleys were ever meant to be. But Heath. . .” Victoria looked back out at the young man in the corral. “He’s the present. That intensity is poured into the here and now. He shares that with Nick, but without the bluster. His is the need for a constant stability . . . he shares that with Jarrod, but Jarrod’s connection is intellectual, information, communication, while Heath’s concern seems to be the land, the ranch, the concrete holdings of the Barkleys, not as a commodity, though I suppose it could be . . . but I see it more as a . . . a . . . a _raison d’etre_ . . . a reason for being . . .” Victoria frowned, having trouble putting her thoughts in to words. And yet, somehow. . . Audra knew exactly what she meant.

“How he plays a part in the present, to make a difference to the future,” Audra whispered, making her mother start in surprise and turn to her.

“Yes,” the older woman acknowledged. “Yes, that’s it exactly. Lineage.”

Audra nodded. “I’ve felt that, too. Heath sees the ‘long game’,” she smiled.

Truly interested, Victoria turned to her daughter, thoughtfully. “Where do you see Nick and Eugene in this?

Audra frowned, thinking. “Nick is the flame that keeps the home fires burning,” she said quietly. She turned her mother. “He’s our warrior, don’t you think? He’ll fight for the here and now, for the present, to keep this place,” Audra smirked a little, “a **_working ranch_** for the generations to come. He’s our protector . . .our knight in shining armor,” she smiled, tenderly, seeing in her wonderful, bold, brash and brave brother the white knight of a Sir Lancelot. “He can’t necessarily see as far into the future as Jarrod can, but I think he sees the present more clearly than Jarrod does. And he’s . . . well, he’s such an old softie when it comes to the people he wants to protect. Just look at him around children . . . both awkward and delighted,” she chuckled. “And puppies!”

She winked at her mother, making both of the remember countless times the house had been turned upside down by a representative of one of Nick’s dozens of litters of puppies escaping the barn and following his jingling spurs in through the kitchen door while he was lugging wood or just talking and not paying attention.

“And Nick. . . “ the girl sighed, with a smile. “Well, while Jarrod tends to look at the whole world, and want to fix it, Nick sees the one person in trouble, or the one person to fight, or the one person he loves, and the rest of the world can just go hang!”

Victoria nodded, squeezing her daughter’s hand. “Each tree,” she smiled, “rather than the whole forest.”

Audra chuckled and nodded.

“And Gene?” her mother asked softly, somehow a little worried to hear this young goddess, this young Diana’s viewpoint when it came to the youngest of the Barkleys . . .

Audra smiled, tenderly. “Gene is our connection to the future. Sometimes I think Gene was born about fifty years too soon,” she said with a grin. “He’s already living in the 20th century, the way he thinks. That’s why he and Father always locked horns.”

Victoria narrowed her eyes, tilting her head, and gazed at her daughter in question.

Audra smiled, knowing. “Father lived in the present. Like Heath does. . . and Nick. He was able to see how the present can feed into the future, which is why he was able to latch onto so many wonderful ideas that are keeping the ranch real and viable now, so close to the end of the 19th century. Diversification . . . understanding the workers. . . all of those things were Father’s gifts. But he really couldn’t **_see_** the future the way Eugene does. That’s why Nick and Gene are always so at odds.”

Victoria turned to her daughter, giving her all of her attention, making the girl blush a little and grow a tad bashful. Victoria squeezed her hands in support . . . and in supplication, needing to hear this wise daughter’s viewpoint.

Audra sighed. “Nick wants to change the present only to make the bottom line in the future better. Gene is willing to see a future that just might erase the present. That’s terrifying to Nick,” the girl said softly, “but energizing to Gene. Gene lives in the next century. Jarrod gets that. And, to some degree, so does Heath. Heath doesn’t understand it, but that doesn’t mean he disregards it, like Nick does.”

Victoria studied her daughter, shook her head in awe. “Audra Elizabeth Catherine Barkley . . . has anyone told you how wise you are?”

Audra smiled wistfully. “Once. . .a long time ago,” she acknowledged. . . and her eyes grew damp at the memory.

Victoria reached out a hand, and cupped her daughter’s cheek, also remembering a man whose very touch seemed linked to gold . . .

\- _FIN_

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: Credit to NLindaBritt for the name of Victoria’s father.


End file.
